


Remembrance

by aohatsu



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Rescue, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: Scott's brother is walking him towards his inevitable incarceration.
Relationships: Jean Grey/Scott Summers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



> I _think_ all of these tags should count. Feel free to tell me if I'm stretching it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!

Scott stumbles in the hallway against—somebody. There’s a hard hit against his shoulder. Alex catches him by the arm before he falls to the floor. He hates not being able to see; hates being blind because of the searing heat that wrecks destruction every time he just _opens his eyes_. It’s not fair. And he really hates depending on Alex, of all people, to walk him around.

A girl mumbles, “Watch where you’re going.”

He’s not even sure if he’s the one who hit her, or if she hit him. If he did, it’s not his fault. He’s literally blind; if Alex weren’t holding onto his shoulder, he’d be—

_Dammit._

“I can’t,” he says, pointing obviously at the blindfold covering his eyes. Can’t she see that he’s an invalid?

“Who are you talking to?” Alex asks, and Scott can just hear the bewildered confusion in his voice.

“Me,” the girl says, and then, “I’m telepathic, I read minds.”

Sudden irritation rises up in his gut. She’s in his _head_? He angrily says, “Yeah, well, stay out of mine. I don’t need some weird girl creeping around in there.” For more reasons than one these days.

He remembers the look of that guy on the floor, blood pooling around his body where he lay gasping for air. It had taken minutes for him to die, for the twitching and the gasps to stop. Remembers how amazing it had felt to watch. The puddle of blood had just kept getting bigger, pooling out until it was all you could see, all you could smell. He’d gotten it on his hands and his clothes when he’d moved the body afterward. He remembers the way it hadn’t wanted to come out in the sink, or in the shower.

How he’d had dried blood under his nails for days, taunting him. Making him sick with the fear and the guilt and wondering how long it would be until someone noticed. Until someone figured it out.

Until he got caught.

But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He hadn’t been able to stop seeing it play out in his head, over and over and over again like an old tape on repeat.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about doing it again, even at night when he’d tried not to think about it, to dream about some pretty girl with soft skin and a sultry dark voice telling him when he was allowed to come.

The knife had just gone in so easy.

 _Shit_.

Shit, he really doesn’t need anybody to see that in his head. He’s fucked up, and he knows it, and Alex is about to introduce him to his very own telepathic prison warden, apparently, and now there’s this girl getting into his head like she has any right to—

“Don’t worry, Scott,” the girl says, after a minute. A long minute. “It’s not the worst secret I’ve ever seen in someone’s head. There’s hardly even much to see in there.”

Alex snorts next to him, chuckling, clearly thinking she’s making a joke about Scott’s intelligence or something even stupider—it’s Alex after all—but Scott’s heart practically freezes in his chest. He can hardly breathe. Time practically stops. She knows. She _knows_. She’s fucking seen it, and—

He sucks in a slow, hoarse breath.

He wishes he could see this girl’s face; find out what expression she’s wearing on it. Is she laughing at him? Disgusted? Does she really think that what he did—that it’s—

What does she mean, she won’t tell anyone? Is she serious? Who finds out somebody is a murderer—and just—says _there’s hardly even much to see_?

And why is the thought that she knows—that she’s teasing him about the fact that he’s a murderer, that he wants to do it again, that he gets off on it, on the blood and the adrenaline and the feeling of a knife sinking into soft, pliable skin, the last fading breaths someone can take—why is he so _turned on_ when he’s so fucking scared?

He feels like he’s walking around with blood on his hands all over again, hoping nobody can see. Hoping someone does. Hoping someone _asks_.

He breathes again, feels Alex tug on his arm and say something.

He nearly stumbles again, and then yells, “Hey, wait!” but she doesn’t seem to stop.

“Come on, Romeo,” Alex says, the grin in his voice clear enough. “Let’s go meet the Professor.”

Great, a few more steps before he goes to prison anyway. His heart is pounding. His legs are shaking.

Scott takes one step with Alex guiding him in the right direction (the direction towards his inevitable incarceration) before the voice is back. Something about it feels different, and he thinks—it’s just in his head. She isn’t talking to him out loud. How far away do her powers even work?

 _I’ll block what the Professor sees when you see him_.

It’s as loud as a drum, drowning out every other noise in the school, but at the same time, it’s as soft as a whisper in his ear and he can’t help the shiver that crawls up his spine. He wonders if shiver on the back of his neck and the heat pooling in his stomach is what it would feel like if she were really standing next to him, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. _Fuck_. He doesn’t even know what she looks like.

 _Why?_ he shoots back at her. He doesn’t even know if she’ll be able to hear him, but he might as well give it a shot.

A short pause. He thinks Alex might be trying to talk to him.

 _Because I’ve killed people too_ , she says, finally, soft and almost nothing more than a murmur.

He spins around even though, even if she were there, he wouldn’t be able to see her. He swallows, heart in his throat. She—

“What’s your name?” he asks out loud, because he can’t stop himself from needing to know.

In his head, he hears it:

 _Jean_.

He thinks he might already be falling in love.


End file.
